This is way too much fun.
Director François Ozon’s frothy period farce is many things: an homage to 1930s Hollywood screwball comedies, and a canny nod to the tempestuous cinema transition from silents to talkies, along with a cheeky soupçon of contemporary gender issues.
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| Crafty attorney Pauline Mauléon (Rebecca Marder, right) isn't about to let best friend Madeleine Verdier (Nadia Tereszkiewicz) be convicted of a crime she didn't commit ... or did she? |
The result is joyously entertaining, thanks both to a sharp script by Ozon and Philippe Piazzo — adapting Georges Berr and Louis Verneuil’s 1934 play, Mon Crime — and effervescent performances by the entire cast. Traces of the original stage production are evident (which must’ve been a hoot, back in the day), but the presentation never feels cramped; Ozon, production designer Jean Rabasse and cinematographer Manual Dacosse “open up” the story in a manner that’s far more cinema than theater.
The setting is Paris, the year 1935. Struggling actress Madeleine Verdier (Nadia Tereszkeiwicz) and best friend Pauline Mauléon (Rebecca Marder), an unemployed lawyer, share a cramped flat and owe 3,000 francs in five months’ back rent. Their oafish landlord, Pistole (Franck De Lapersonne), seems willing to take it out in trade, but — harumph! — Madeleine and Pauline aren’t that sort of gals.
While Pauline verbally jousts with Pistole, Madeleine is in trouble elsewhere; we see her hastily depart the lavish estate of famed theater producer Montferrand (Jean-Christophe Bouvet). She’s disheveled and clearly distraught. Upon returning to their flat, she tearfully explains that Montferrand offered her a bit part only if she’d become his mistress; we she refused, he tried to rape her, and she fled.
Madeleine’s longtime boyfriend André Bonnard (Édouart Sulpice) shows up — he’s heir to the Bonnard Tire corporation — but is scarcely a comfort. 400,000 francs in debt, thanks to bad luck at the horse track, the only “solution” offered by his father (André Dussollier) is an arranged marriage with Berthe Courteil, which — conveniently — will pump millions of francs into the ailing Bonnard factory operation.
But that’s okay, André insists, to the shattered Madeleine; we’ll still see each other for at least one meal per day ... as my mistress. (The cad! The bounder!)
Enter police Inspector Brun (Régis Laspalés), who arrives with the news that Montferrand has been found dead, murdered by a single gunshot ... and isn’t it rather suspicious, that Madeleine owns a gun with one chamber fired?
Mais non, the young woman insists. But then, after an unsatisfied Brun departs, Pauline takes her friend aside ... and a plan is hatched.
When Madeleine is summoned to police headquarters, investigating judge Gustave Rabusset (Fabrice Luchini, hilariously pompous) spins an ongoing series of contrived murder scenarios wholly at odds with established evidence, much to the eye-rolling delight of clerk Léon Trapu (Olivier Broche). We see these setups in monochrome, silent-movie style, each more unlikely than the previous one.
When Rabusset finally winds down, with Madeleine wide-eyed and speechless, Trapu insists that she sign “these rather contradictory statements.”
But then circumstances overtake such speculation, when Madeleine confesses to the crime, insisting that she killed Montferrand in self-defense, protecting her virtue. The subsequent trial is a media sensation, with Pauline serving as defense attorney against bloviating public prosecutor Maurice Vrai (Michael Fau). He wants Madeleine sent to the gallows, as a warning against other wives and mistresses who might kill their loutish husbands and boyfriends.
The resulting publicity elevates Madeleine’s status to a degree she never could have imagined: a result with a strong echo of the Bob Fosse/Fred Ebb musical Chicago.
Additional key characters include Fernand Palmarède (Dany Boon), a somewhat prissy, nouveau riche architect from Marseille, who circles around these events; and ambitious young journalist Gilbert Raton (Félix Lefebvre), a deliberate nod to Belgian cartoonist Georges Remi’s (aka Hergé’s) boy reporter, Tintin.
There’s also one more essential player, who cannot be mentioned due to spoilers. That said, this performer also delivers an exceptional — and quite mirthful — performance.
Given the breathless pacing and rat-a-tat dialogue, and as matters become increasingly confused, viewers may overlook a key question: If Madeleine didn’t kill Montferrand ... then who did?
Everything about this film is delightful, most notably the way Ozon ingeniously blends an old-school Hollywood atmosphere with modern-day nods to gender equality — in the workplace — and the capricious nature of love. It’s no accident that costume designers Constance Allain and Pascaline Chavanne garb Pauline in pants suits, and the occasional wistful gaze on the lawyer’s face, when Madeleine’s back is turned, becomes increasingly heartbreaking.
Marder plays Pauline as resourceful, whip-smart and cunning, easily capable of confounding everybody from their landlord to the public prosecutor. (It’s difficult to imagine why she’d be unemployed, as these events begin.) But Pauline also has a melancholy, vulnerable side that makes her wholly endearing.
Madeleine initially seems little more than a breathy, bubble-headed blonde, but that belies the subtlety of Tereszkiewicz’s performance. Madeleine actually is feisty, quite perceptive, a shrewd judge of character, and indignantly able to stand up for herself.
Both women, it must be mentioned, are sensuous in the deliciously casual way that is pure French.
Sulpice is the pluperfect scoundrel, utterly oblivious to his faults; as André’s father, Dussollier is the epitome of tradition, good taste and bourgeois classicism. (His son, in love with a mere actress? Perish forfend!)
During an impressively prolific career that stretches back to 1988, Ozon has proven equally adept at features and short subjects, in pretty much every genre. He’s obviously fond of stories involving murder and other crimes, whether in comedies or erotic thrillers; 2003’s Swimming Pool is an excellent example of the latter.
The Crime Is Mine is a thoroughly entertaining romp, and it’s a shame an eye-blink U.S. release late last year has morphed to the potential obscurity of video-on-demand. It deserves better ... so do seek it out.
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